


Into the Woods

by vintage1983



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-10-27 16:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20763530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983
Summary: Hermione Granger is a trainee at the Department for the Procurement of Dark Objects. It is far from the dangerous, exciting work she had imagined. All that is about to change when an unexpected visitor and an excursion into the woods throws everything she thought she knew into chaos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking a look!  
This is my other Lumione fic to go with Unsuitable Employment. Both will be updated regularly and if you like this and haven't read that one, you might enjoy it too. 
> 
> I'll be honest as it stands this is a three-ish chapter smutty ficlet, but elsewhere the body swap plot bunny has been gently boiling away. I'd love to know if you think I should go down that road, it is very possible at this point, but I'd like your thoughts on that!  
Enjoy, Vin x

Ernest Tuttlewitt’s vivid and gaudy sleeveless jumper encased and disguised a very dull man. It was knitted for him by Mrs. Tuttlewitt and was part of an endless stream of new and increasingly hideous sweaters and cardigans she seemed to produce at the rate of knots. Hermione rolled her eyes at his stories. She had rapidly mastered the art of mentally drifting to another place as he regaled her with tales of his wife’s knitting, and their riveting evenings spent in the company of a 5000 piece jigsaw and steaming, endless mugs of cocoa, before they tucked up under matching floral bedspreads in their cosy, twin beds, the lights out by nine thirty. Still, as bosses went, he was a decent soul. Kind eyes with a dull glow seemed enormous through his thick jam-jar spectacles and his thin lips smiled back at her with a genuine paternal warmth. His hair was a work of art, over-long strands slicked down into an intricate thatch in a fruitless attempt to conceal the wide expanse of scalp that now gleamed through the gaps. Though small in stature, he was almost as wide as he was tall, a situation he blamed firmly on Mrs. Tuttlewitt’s delicious cakes and pies. A generous man, he often made concerted attempts to feed up Hermione, sharing his supply of baked goodies and insisting she came for dinner and had a hearty meal as often as she liked. He was difficult to dislike, but hard to be enthused by.

As a new employee at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione had been placed in the Department for the Procurement of Dark Objects for the last six months. It sounded considerably more dangerous and glamorous than the reality. Most days were spent doing endless cataloguing, making lists and checking inventories. Occasionally Hermione would be sent to collect something, though never unaccompanied. Ernest was a cautious man, but always seemed to exaggerate the risk. She had fought in Dumbledore’s Army as a schoolgirl. It hardly seemed likely she would flee, screaming in terror when confronted by a possessed teapot requiring collection from a village in North Yorkshire. A fresh report of a troublesome object would come in, she would insist she was up to the task alone, but Ernest would already be pulling on his cloak and cap, attempting to look serious and grave, despite the glimpses of lurid, neon wool that peeped out from beneath the outer layer of clothing.

“Come on my dear girl, we have work to do. It’s a dangerous job, but someone’s got to do it,” he would say every time without fail, filled with a jolly sense of thrill.

In truth, Ernest was a lovely man, as dull as dishwater, but an avid collector and bursting with knowledge. Hermione contented herself that however boring it was, it wasn’t forever and at least she would learn something, if she could only manage to stay awake as he talked endlessly about mundane objects imbued with occult powers. Occasionally, very occasionally he would tell her about something truly sinister. His perky voice would sink to a low and hushed tone. Those times he did hold her attention. She had expected a department run to tackle dark objects to be like that all day every day. Haunted crockery and endless reports and needless paperwork were more typical of her daily duties. Sometimes she embraced a calm and settled life, but there were days when she longed for some excitement, and for something, _anything_ to happen.

It was a hot day. The hottest on record and London slowly baked under the blazing mid-August sun. Even the usually cool alleyways of the wizarding parts of the city were not immune to the soaring temperatures. Sunbeams cut through the streets like lasers, forcing witches and wizards to scramble for shade and shelter. The wisest had forsaken work and sought sanctuary in the Leaky Cauldron and were enjoying cooling glasses of butterbeer. The most sensible Muggles had done very much the same and the streets were virtually deserted.

Hermione had arrived at the Ministry, undeterred by the weather, and found it unusually quiet. The usually bustling corridors were devoid of life. It seemed even the machine of governance was not immune to the disruption of a heatwave. She was grateful for its cool darkness and made her way to the department. Entering the office, huffing and muttering about the temperature, she discovered the usually jovial Ernest crumpled in the corner, his face turning from crimson to purple as he clutched at his throat and fought for air.

“Mr. Tuttlewitt!”

He gasped and choked, unable to form words, his eyes starting to bulge at the lack of oxygen. His arm flapped and she hoped he was trying to point to something useful. She looked around. His office was organised chaos. There were piles of books and objects heaped on every available surface, some obviously magical, others seemingly innocuous. It was useless. 

“What happened? Can you tell me?”

He managed no more than a gargled sound. Panic set in.

“Think, think,” she said to herself, desperately scanning the cluttered room for a clue. There was nothing. In a room littered with dark magical objects it could be anything.

Uncertain of what else to do she loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, trying to help him breathe. It made no difference. Crouching down beside him, she managing to help him to sit up and offered comfort. Awkwardly she tried to peer into his mouth. His airway seemed clear and there was nothing obvious preventing him from breathing. Hermione concluded it must be magical in nature.

“Please, Mr. Tuttlewitt, please try to breathe while I work this out.”

She acted out deep puffing breaths, instantly reminding of herself of a midwife giving advice to a mother-to-be, mid-labour. She felt both ridiculous and useless. Hermione considered running for help, but she was reluctant to leave the casualty unattended.

“Help, help.”

There was no response. The Ministry corridors remained virtually empty, most of its staff put off by the searing heat outside had taken leave for the day.

“Please, anybody. Help!”

Her desperate wail was met with silence. Mr. Tuttlewitt wheezed desperately, beginning to turn blue.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from behind her.

“Missio.”

It was icy cold, harsh and sneering sneering. The spell bellowed out from the doorway. It seemed to come from nowhere. Whoever it was had said the right thing at the right moment and she watched as the oxygen flooded Ernest’s lungs and his colouring instantly began to return to his regular shade of whiteish grey.

Initially startled by the voice, now Hermione breathed out almost as deeply in relief as her suffocating head of department had done. Her attention turned to the good Samaritan at the door. That voice seemed distantly familiar. Her head snapped around, her wide, grateful smile curling rapidly into a disgruntled frown. An imposing figure filled the door, dressed head to toe in black, his wand still drawn from his cane, pointing directly at her, blond hair tumbling over his shoulder, his lips twisted into a scornful grimace. She looked up at him, her mouth falling open in shock as the last person she had expected to see in the doorway of her place of work stared back hard at her.

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“The very same.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Ernest rasped, now scrambling to his feet and offering a trembling hand to the visitor. “I am indebted to you. Thank the Gods you turned up when you did. I thought I was a goner.”

Hermione looked at Lucius accusingly.

Malfoy huffed and rolled his eyes, sliding his wand back into the cane theatrically and reluctantly shaking the fingertips of Mr. Tuttlewitt’s now sweaty hand with a look of horror and disdain.

“This is Hermione Granger, my assistant.” Tuttlewitt said, his eyes flitting between Hermione and Lucius nervously, his voice still a hoarse croak.

“I am already… acquainted… with Miss Granger.”

“Did you do this, Malfoy?” she spat at him.

“Yes, of course. I came here with the nefarious intention of murdering your superior, Mr. Tuttlewitt; I had a sudden attack of guilt, stepped in and single-handedly saved the man’s life, a feat you seemed unable to accomplish without my intervention.”

He grinned smugly.

Hermione sucked on her cheeks and felt her fist clenching with barely contained rage at his demeanour, still as snooty and arrogant as ever, despite everything he had done.

“Then what happened?”

“A simple constriction hex, I believe it emanated from that…thing.”

He pointed at the sausage-shaped, stuffed tube of fabric on the floor.

“The draft excluder?”

“So, it seems. Whatever…that is.”

“It’s a Muggle device, designed to stop cold air getting in under doors. It’s the heat you see, draws these things out, wakes them up, as it were. I must remember to deal with that properly. Missio will get shot of it for now, but without a sealing charm it’ll be back at it in no time.” Ernest seemed pleased he could at least offer some knowledge on the subject and dusted himself down, tugging and straightening his dreadful jumper and smoothing down the wayward wisps of hair that had fallen over his face during the drama.

Lucius raised an eyebrow and casually kicked the offending article away.

“Evidently nothing to do with me, Miss Granger.”

“It’s hardly unreasonable of me to be suspicious of you.”

“No, perhaps not and it is not unreasonable of me to have expected one of the _brightest_ witches of her age to be able to identify and disarm something so simple and yet we find ourselves here.”

Lucius smirked. Hermione gritted her teeth. Ernest Tuttlewitt still looked a little dazed and shell shocked. He rubbed at his neck. The invisible assailant had left behind deep red marks as if a boa constrictor had been coiled there. There was an awkward silence. Ernest grew dizzy, his initial burst of energy from the influx of oxygen rapidly beginning to fade.

“I must sit down, if you don’t mind. I’m still a little lightheaded.”

“Of course, you must.” Hermione pulled out his chair and cleared it of books and unfinished paperwork, ushering him into his seat. “Let me get you some water.” She watched Malfoy closely as she poured it, her eyes fixed on his, daring him to do or say anything out of line. He returned her gaze, unmoved and looking almost bemused that he had riled her so easily.

Ernest sipped his water, still shaken by his ordeal. “Thanks ever so much for coming, Mr. Malfoy and the hero of the hour, I honestly can’t thank you enough.”

“Not at all, I only did what _any _wizard, or indeed witch, would have done faced with the same situation. It was merely a flick of my wand and single word.”

He shot a glance at Hermione and she scowled back at his condescending tone. Lucius was enjoying seeming her squirm and seizing the opportunity to gloat.

“So, what are you doing here, Malfoy? It still seems convenient, you just turning up like that, just at the very moment the head of a Ministry department collapses to the ground as a result of dark magic. I’ve been here for months without a single mishap. Funny that, isn’t it? Do you often just wander into the Ministry unannounced?”

“As someone more astute may have gathered, I am here at the invitation of your supervisor, Mr Tuttlewitt. As it happens, I have assisted him with more challenging and the very darkest of objects in recent years.”

“That makes perfect sense. Takes one to know one. I find it hard to believe they even let Death Eaters cross the threshold. I hope they keep you well away from other departments, though I seem to remember you know your way around some of them already. Prophecies, for example.”

“_Former_ Death Eater. If you don’t mind. I should remind you I am a fully reformed and rehabilitated man.”

“Leopard. Spots.”

Hermione snorted and folded her arms across her chest defensively.

“Now, now,” Mr. Tuttlewitt intervened. “Let’s leave the past where it belongs. And in all fairness, Mr. Malfoy has been a great help to me with some difficult matters. Do you have any news, on the…the _thing_…we spoke about?”

“What thing? And you never mentioned _him_ before or a thing.” Hermione’s ears pricked up. She had no idea Malfoy had any dealings with the Ministry at all, let alone with potentially dangerous objects.

“Well, I…well you see. It was thought best…we did think about saying something, but with your pasts and all, well…”

“We? You talked about me, behind my back, to him?”

“No. Well I suppose so. I mean I just wanted to do what was best for you. I thought you might get upset and well…um…it’s done now, but with the best intentions.” Ernest was wringing his hands and keeping his eyes fixed on them.

Lucius huffed impatiently.

“It was decided that your obvious prejudices would be counterproductive, Miss Granger, and since you are only a mere assistant, it was not necessary for you to be privy to the details of my involvement.”

Fury rose within her.

“My prejudices. How dare you? How bloody dare you? My prejudices? Coming from you.”

If her accusation had an any impact on him, he didn’t show it. He still smiled wickedly.

“As you can see, Tuttlewitt, my reservations about Miss Granger are confirmed.”

She opened her mouth to speak again. Lucius turned his attention to Ernest.

“Shall we get on with dealing with the matter in hand, this is an unnecessary diversion, though I worry I may not be able to speak as freely as I would like.”

Hermione seethed silently.

“Please, go on Mr. Malfoy. I think the cat is definitely out of the bag.”

“The object we discussed has been located. It is buried beyond the city in a woodland area. My sources tell me it has been concealed there for some time and while it is, to be best of my knowledge, undisturbed I understand it is not a great distance from _Muggle_ dwellings. I fear in the hands of the untrained and uneducated the device has the capacity to cause a good deal of harm to _them_ and others.”

His nose wrinkled at the very mention of the word Muggle. Hermione continued to observe him as he spoke, noting him choosing his words carefully and repressing the urge to launch into an angry tirade about how she was certain he couldn’t give two hoots about harm coming to anyone beyond his narrow definition of the right sort of wizard. Suspicion and dislike rose within her and formed a tight knot in her stomach. She had felt that before, but in very different circumstances and associated it with a very different set of feelings. Hermione repressed it and focused her attention on poor Ernest, though she had underestimated him and his ability to keep this from her had come as a surprise. He looked worried. He never looked worried, even when he was theatrically overplaying the danger of possessed coat stands and hexed wardrobes, he never looked concerned enough to convince her there was any serious peril involved. It occurred to her that there must be far darker items in circulation and that he must have dealt with them. Ernest must have done those things on his own. Outrage at being side-lined gave way to an overwhelming sense that in his own way he was being noble and protecting a young witch charged to his care. It was a sweet gesture, if a little old fashioned and entirely unnecessary.

“We should go and collect it immediately. Waste no time. The longer it remains there, the greater the danger. I need to get that thing out of commission.”

There was a steely determination to Ernest Tuttlewitt, Hermione had never seen before. She looked at him, still weakened, beads of sweat standing on his brow. Occasionally he would reach to his neck. Dark, purple bruises had begun to develop. The intolerable heat had done little to aid his recovery and it had now seeped into the usually shielded walls of the Ministry. He was in no fit state to do anything, let alone head out and search the woods in the blistering sunshine.

“You’re not up to it. Not after this morning. I’ll go,” Hermione insisted.

Ernest looked dubious.

“Please. Let me. You should rest. In fact, you shouldn’t even be here, go home and rest properly.”

“It’s not something to be trifled with. It must be handled correctly. An experienced hand is needed. I think I should be the one to go.”

“Voldemort’s Horcruxes experienced enough for you?”

Ernest sighed. He knew Hermione had probably encountered far more true dangers in her far fewer years than he ever had. He also knew she was probably stronger and braver than he could ever hope to be, yet as the more senior and time-served manager he felt it was his duty. Not only that, Ernest Tuttlewitt was a father. He imagined throwing his own daughter into the path of malevolent forces and shuddered at the idea.

“I’m not sure you are ready to go it alone, perhaps in a few months.”

“It’s always in a few months. I am ready. More than ready. You know I am.”

He still looked uncertain, if a little torn. It was Lucius, who had silently observed the exchange with great amusement who cast the deciding vote.

“Please, let the girl try. If it is comforting to you, I am more than willing to accompany her and assist in recovering the device.”

“I don’t think so…”

“Hear him out,” Ernest waved his hand to quiet her. “I think that’s a wonderful solution. Very good of you, Mr. Malfoy. I would appreciate it. Much as I would like to soldier on, I’m probably not up to the task and it can’t wait.”

“You want me to go with him?”

“Yes, Hermione. He is well versed in the Dark Arts and an accomplished wizard. I would rest easier knowing you are not alone.”

“Oh, he’s accomplished in the Dark Arts. That evil snake probably wants it for himself. I am not going anywhere with him. I’d be far safer doing this by myself.”

Lucius repressed an evil chuckle.

“Perhaps, I should wait outside while you discuss the matter and deal with insubordination within your department. I wouldn’t wish to be the cause of distress, or indeed further your embarrassment. It is unclear to me who runs this department. And, Miss Granger, your prejudices appear to extend to our reptilian friends. How disappointing.”

Lucius tutted and Hermione thought her head might explode. 

“I run this department. Absolutely. Hermione, I insist you do not undertake this alone. One of us will be accompanying you. I will let you choose.”

She glanced between them. Ernest looked ill and weak. Guilt stabbed at her heart. Lucius waited with icy determination. There was no choice to make.

“Fine. Come on then Malfoy, let’s get this over and done with as quickly as possible.”

“The correct choice under the circumstances.” Lucius looked self-satisfied and rather pleased with himself. “Shall, we? I fear we have wasted enough time already debating the practicalities of the task.”

She bit her tongue. It was pointless trying to argue or reason with him. The less she said and the sooner it was over the better. Malfoy had already stormed out into the hallway.

“Hermione,” Ernest said gripping her hand. “Stay safe, for me, please. I’d never forgive myself if…if”

“I’ll be fine. Promise. Trust me.”

She squeezed his hand and headed for the door, stopping once more.

“Mr. Tuttlewitt.”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Go home.”

He nodded back at her and wondered how such a wise head sat upon such young shoulders.

“Come along, girl,” Lucius barked from the corridor.

Hermione inhaled deeply and shook her head. Today was going to be a severe test of her patience.

Lucius had not paused and was already halfway down the hallway. Hermione upped her speed to catch up to him. He gave her a fleeting sideways glance and continued at the same pace.

“I hope you aren’t planning on trying anything. Don’t think I’m fooled by you turning over a new leaf. I’ll be watching your every move.”

His eyes remained fixed ahead.

A loudspeaker crackled into life before he could answer. A monotone voice announced made its announcement.

“Due to atmospheric conditions, please be aware that the flue network is currently down. Please also note that due to the extreme temperatures, all Ministry employees are required to refrain from apparating and disapparating as your safety cannot be guaranteed. The Ministry will take no responsibility for any accidents, mishaps or untimely deaths as a result of unsanctioned travel during this time. Thank you for your co-operation.”

Three increasingly higher pitched bongs signalled the end of the message.

Hermione let out a groan.

“What are we going to do? We can’t not travel. Maybe I can ask for some dispensation. It is an emergency.”

“Since I am not a Ministry employee, no such limitations apply. Perhaps I may have to complete the task alone.”

“Absolutely not! There is no way you are going without me. I’ll go straight to the top if I have to.”

“Hmm abusing your connections, I’m certain you would be the first to criticise me if I had suggested such a thing. I imagined you would be opposed to nepotism.”

“Fine, I’ll go through the proper channels, then.”

“Ah, the bureaucratic red tape could take days for your enquiry even to be acknowledged.”

She sighed. It pained her to concede he was probably right.

“Whatever will you do? Will the saintly Hermione Granger resort to rule breaking? How exciting.”

Lucius was revelling in the bind she found herself in.

“We’ll have to fly.”

Lucius balked at the suggestion.

“Take a broom? With clear skies above the most populous Muggle city in the country in the middle of the day? We are most certain to be seen. I have no idea how you explain that to your superiors once our images are splashed across the front pages of their newspapers. Besides, I haven’t ridden a broom since I was a boy.”

Hermione tried and failed to repress laughter at the thought of Lucius flapping and clinging on for dear life.

“Is something amusing you?”

“No, I just struggle to imagine you were ever a boy. That’s all.”

He looked irritated. She felt a surge of glee.

“Well,” he said impatiently. “What do you intend to do?”

“Why is it all down to me? You’re hardly full of suggestions. Are you being difficult for the sake of it?”

“Not at all, quite the contrary. Since I am still able to apparate at will, the difficulty is all yours. Finding a solution to your own predicament seems appropriate.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “We have one alternative left.”

The was loathed to mention it. She had no choice.

“I have a car.”

“A car? You expect me to travel in a Muggle vehicle, operated by you?”

“You told me to find a solution. I did.”

Hermione started off down the corridor.

“Are you coming or not?” she barked back at him without turning her head.

Indignant and displeased, Lucius followed after her. The idea horrified him, yet Hermione Granger did not. He quietly admired her determination and spirit. Mudblood or otherwise, she was certainly bright and resourceful. He observed her moving down the corridor, now very much a young woman she was not displeasing to the eye. Lucius found himself studying the shape of her, he found her light on her feet and she moved with surprising grace. The ungainly, frizzy-haired little girl he had first encountered in Diagon Alley no longer existed. Lucius banished such thoughts from his mind and consoled himself with the idea that travelling across London and out into the countryside in one of those horrendous metal contraptions, progressing slowly along Muggle roads, out amongst them, would be enough to crush any feelings of warmth very quickly indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews, subscriptions and kudos, much appreciated. Lots of snarky chat and Lucius Malfoy learning to cross the road!
> 
> Note a rating change, I was optimistic I could keep it down to M... The next chapter is looking a bit more like E! 
> 
> If you are not in the UK and the idea of the green man is confusing, our equivalent of Walk/Don't Walk is a red man and a green one! 
> 
> Your thoughts and comments are always welcomed and adored.  
Enjoy!  
Vin x

Hermione shot an awkward sideways glance at Lucius as they emerged from the phone box that provided an exit from the Ministry of Magic. As they stepped out into the sweltering heat of Muggle London, she realised he couldn’t have looked any more out of place if he tried. Still draped head to foot in black, wearing robes despite the soaring temperatures, he was hardly inconspicuous.

“You could have made some sort of effort to blend in,” she said with a resigned sigh, anticipating his response.

“Blend in?”

Lucius turned his nose up at the very suggestion he should modify his behaviour to go anywhere or do anything.

“Yes. You do stick out like a sore thumb.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my thumb, Miss Granger, and how is it you expect me to blend in, precisely?”

“Urgh. You know what I mean,” she snapped. “Look at what you’re wearing. People will stare at you. Come on this way, the longer we stand here, the more attention you are drawing to yourself.”

Hot and already irritated by his presence, she set off down the street towards the underground car park and their means of collecting the object that had caused her superior at the Ministry, Ernest, so much consternation.

“Why on Earth would anyone stare at me?”

There was a knowing smirk fighting at the corner of his mouth. Hermione noticed it, but still took the bait.

“I don’t know, perhaps because of the way you look.”

“Hmm. I have often been told I am a striking gentleman capable of turning heads. It seems you agree.”

Hermione gritted her teeth and refused to bite any further and they continued down the street in the silence of a reluctant truce. Her gaze occasionally flitted in his direction. Part of her hoped if she focused on the road ahead and didn’t speak to him, she might manage to give the impression they weren’t going anywhere together. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but look in his direction. She had never considered it before, but it was fair to say that some would consider Lucius Malfoy attractive. Tall, elegant and immaculately groomed, he had a strong profile and his pale blue eyes glinted with a touch of wickedness in the bright sunlight.

“You’re not _that_ good looking,”

He made no effort to conceal his amusement.

“Not _that_ good looking? Praise indeed coming from you, I think.”

She could have kicked herself for giving him an inch and she reminded herself that Lucius Malfoy was a subject of hatred and mistrust, not someone to casually appraise as attractive. Still, he was, a little bit.

“Trust me, in _this_ London, people will stare. And not because they fancy you. More like they think you’re in fancy dress, or in this weather wearing that, they’ll think you’ve escaped from somewhere.”

“May I ask…”

“What?” she snapped, probably more aggravated by her own words than his.

“Which people, exactly do you mean? Barring the down and out in a doorway ten yards back who was most definitely asleep, and the inebriates contained within the confines of the public house on the corner, there is barely a soul to witness our little jaunt about town.”

Hermione huffed, but he was right. The streets were eerily deserted. She had sensibly traded her usual Ministry robes for a red, floral patterned wrap dress. Though it was much lighter and flimsy, and certainly cooler than her usual work attire, she still felt the heat. Her skin grew damp and she noticed her heels clung to the softening tarmac.

Though the roads were quiet by city standards, cars and buses still shot up and down the busier roads, snippets of the sound of the radio wafted out of open windows. Snippets of songs and disembodied voices coming from radios drifted past. The whizzing of passing vehicles was the only breeze and she was glad of it. Lucius watched with disgust and fascination, stepping out carelessly into the oncoming traffic. Hermione’s arm instinctively shot out, forcing him to stagger back up onto the safety of the pavement.

“Watch the road!” she screamed in blind panic.

“Idiot!” bellowed the driver of the black cab that had almost hurtled into Lucius, as he honked his horn furiously. “Watch where you’re bloody going,” echoed down the road as he sped off.

Lucius’ fingers curled angrily around his cane.

“Idiot? I am the idiot? Perhaps he should pay more attention and control that machine properly. I wonder any Muggles survive the day.”

“It really doesn’t work like that.”

Lucius watched with a child-like curiosity as Hermione pressed the button at the crossing and gestured for him to stay put.

“Now what?”

“We wait, of course.”

“For how long? Does no-one stop for us to cross? How uncivilised. However, does anyone manage to accomplish anything with all of this aimless waiting around?”

“Look up there.”

He did, scowling and twisting his face with contempt at the whole experience.

“We wait until the green man appears.”

“Who is this ‘green man’ you speak of? Is he a powerful Muggle of some sort with the authority to cease the stream of vehicles?”

Hermione could not contain her laughter. Lucius frowned more deeply.

“There, that up there. It means we can cross. Powerful Muggle!”

She laughed again and pointed at the illuminated figure above.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Absolutely. Even a Muggle five-year-old knows these things. And I thought you were soooo wise and knowledgeable, and such a powerful wizard. Hurry up, or we’ll miss the lights.”

Lucius upped his speed. Hermione didn’t even attempt to conceal the smug grin at how utterly lost he was in this world.

“You are mocking me, and I will not stand for it.” Lucius seemed genuinely riled. He was not accustomed to being laughed at. People tended to either fear him, show excessive deference or avoid him altogether. “What call do I have for this useless information?” Lucius was seething.

“That _useless_ information just saved your life. Next time I’ll just let you step out in front of a bus. Then I can scrape you up off the road and take you with me in a jam jar.” Hermione was at her most condescending. It was an art she had refined over the years. Still, his face softened unexpectedly.

“I suppose I should express some gratitude. Thank you.”

“Yes, you probably should.”

Hermione looked up at him. Their eyes met briefly, she searched into them. He did seem sincere.

“Anyway, we’re here,” she said suddenly.

The underground car park was thankfully dark and cool, and she fumbled around in her handbag searching for the key. The lights flashed and it made a beeping sound as it unlocked. Although Lucius looked far more at home in the shadow of darkness than in the bright, white sunlight outdoors, he still eyed the car with suspicion. Hesitantly he hovered at the door.

“Have you never…been in a car?”

“No. I must confess, I haven’t.”

“It’s not totally unheard of, I mean the Weasleys have one.”

Lucius scoffed and raised an eyebrow, incredulous at the comparison. “Do I look like a Weasley to you?”

“No. I suppose you don’t. I mean, you’re not ginger for starters.”

Lucius snorted with laughter. It suddenly occurred to her she was standing awfully close to him, near enough to feel the heat radiating from him, in spite of the warmth in the air. He smiled. Certain she had only ever seen him smirk or look self-satisfied; it changed his appearance. There was a twinkle in his eyes, even in the shady corner of the car park and she was conscious of how completely alone they were. A tight knot formed and twisted in her belly. Suddenly her mouth was dry. Seeking a rational explanation, she told herself he must make her nervous, after all he was a Death Eater. She inched closer. Lucius leaned in toward her.

“Lucius,” she rasped.

He licked his lips.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” he replied in a low, almost flirtatious tone.

“Unless you are planning to drive, you will need to get in at the other side.”

Whatever had passed between them in those seconds dissipated.

“Hmm. Yes, yes of course,” he nodded with a hint of embarrassment.

The engine roared to life. Lucius observed Hermione’s every movement intently. It very quickly became evident that he had no concept of how to drive, let alone the internal workings of a combustion engine.

“Seat belt,” she barked. He looked around awkwardly, though he refused to ask for any assistance, and eventually she put on hers. He copied the action. Tugging at it, he looked bemused as it slowly coiled back in and held him securely in his seat.

“Is this restraint entirely necessary. It rather suggests this a dangerous venture.”

“Are you scared?”

Lucius scowled again.

“Not at all. Though you are doing little to reassure me this is a safe method of transport.”

He peered over from the passenger seat as she reversed out of the space at speed. Hermione was usually a confident, if not slightly cocky driver.

“Are you planning on staring at me for the entire duration of the trip?”

“I am simply interested in how such a machine is operated.”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“Don’t it’s off putting. If you want to do something useful, you know where we are going, I need to know. I’ll use the Sat Nav.”

Lucius looked blank.

“Urgh. That thing there. Guidance, navigation.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I know the location; how do I transmit that to the device?”

“Postcode?”

He still looked baffled by her every word.

“Directions then, roads to take?”

“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “Hang the Ministry, I feel we should simply apparate and spare ourselves the journey in this hideous contraption. This is an outrage.”

“Fine. I take it you can at least read a map.”

“Of course, I can. I’m not an idiot.”

Hermione leant across and rifled in the glove box. Lucius peered in nosily at the collection of rubbish that was stuffed inside. Triumphantly she pulled out a road map.

“There we go…”

Hermione was stretched across Lucius’ lap, virtually spilling out of her dress. As she raised her head, the full extent of the display became very apparent.

“Miss Granger, please try and maintain some decorum.”

Malfoy smirked. Mortified, Hermione sat bolt upright in her seat, stuffing the map into Lucius’ hand and tugging and adjusting her neckline furiously. Lucius drew his wand from his cane and tapped the paper.

“Iterus Mappa.”

A green, slowing route appeared.

Hermione shrugged, “Wizard Sat Nav, that’ll do.”

They set off across London. Though still quiet by usual standards, there was still city traffic to contend with. As they moved through the streets, they passed parks bustling with people enjoying the sun, finally there were signs of that the millions of inhabitants were alive and well. People gathered under shady trees, the most committed lay out catching the rays or walking dogs. Finally, they had escaped the confines of the built-up, urban landscape and were winding their way down narrow country roads.

Travelling largely in companionable silence, bar the occasional direction and short-tempered exchange about giving directions far too late, it was not wholly unpleasant. Hermione had wound down her window and the speed of the car gave the impression of a cooling breeze. She inhaled the fresh, clean air.

“You know I am starting to think this isn’t quite as terrible as I imagine…Shit!” Hermione screeched as she pressed down hard on the brake to bring them to a sudden and juddering stop as they narrowly missed a collision with a slow-moving tractor that had pulled out suddenly from a farm track and was content to trundle and chug along the road.

“Gods, watch the road!” Lucius barked.

“Don’t start. If you want to drive be my guest, if not then deal with it. There is nothing worse than a backseat driver.”

“I’m not sitting in a back seat and I am merely reminding you to heed your own advice about road safety.”

In the meantime, they were stuck, inching along behind the agricultural vehicle at a snail’s pace. There was no way to overtake. The lane was far too narrow. Hermione tutted and honked her horn.

“Patience is a virtue, Miss Granger.”

“I’m not feeling very virtuous right now.”

“Hmm,” Lucius murmured.

Hermione honked the horn again.

“For heaven’s sake, settle yourself. Our journey is merely delayed. Anyone would think you are keen to spend as little time in my company as possible.”

“You’re not wrong,” she muttered.

Lucius grinned as if he had either chosen to tactically ignore what she had said or was unsurprised and even amused by her sharp response. Perhaps he enjoyed the sport of taunting her.

“It’s just so bloody hot,” she said, puffing out the air from her cheeks, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Small beads of sweat had formed, and she ran her fingers through her hair, her hand trailing down her neck and chest, rubbing at her warm skin. His eyes followed the path of her fingers and continued down to her thighs. The dress was short to start with, but her constant shuffling in the driver’s seat had caused it to ride up further exposing the pale flesh at the top of her leg it was designed to drape over. Sensing she was being watched; her eyes opened. The instinct to admonish him was quashed by an overwhelming feeling of something else entirely. To her own amazement she found she liked it. Now conscious of her newfound ability to torment her companion, she parted her legs a few inches and arched in her seat.

“So, so, so hot,” she rasped. “And the traffic is moving so slowly.”

“It is. Perhaps…we should find something to do to…pass the time.”

“Hmm.”

She almost panted at him, her wide eyes darting between him and the road ahead.

“What do you suggest?”

“What would you like to do, Hermione?” he drawled, licking his lips.

“Game of I Spy?” he snapped back into life and grinned at him with a mix of triumph and contempt.

Lucius frowned and glared out of the windscreen.

“Well perhaps we might engage in conversation, if the art is not completely dead.”

His temper sounded frayed.

“I’d like to know what the hell we are going to find when we finally get there. Ernest seemed terrified by the idea of it, not that I imagine it would take a lot to frighten him.”

“You do a great disservice to Tuttlewitt.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Lucius replied stony-faced.

Hermione was intrigued now. It was unlike Malfoy to come to the defence of anyone, let alone someone like Ernest. She had expected disdainful contempt.

“You seem like unlikely friends to me.”

“I never claimed we were friends. I merely asserted that Tuttlewitt is not the coward you envisage.”

“Spill.”

“Spill?” He grimaced at the expression.

“You can’t say that and then not tell me. Come on, you know something.”

“I know a great many things and I am not obliged to tell you anything.”

He did a good job of concealing his pleasure at withholding information. Lucius knew too well, Hermione Granger was predisposed to curiosity, he had always regarded her as outright nosy.

“Please,” she said with a genuine touch of humility. Hermione liked Ernest. If he was carrying around a secret, she wanted to know.

Lucius sighed.

“Very well. Ernest Tuttlewitt had the opportunity to take my life, or at the very least cause me serious harm. He chose to be merciful and I am indebted to him for his generosity.”

“Ernest Tuttlewitt could have killed you, the all-powerful Lucius Malfoy?”

“We duelled. I lost. It is as simple as that.” He stiffened and he gritted his teeth. Lucius Malfoy did not find admitting defeat a comfortable experience.

“You duelled? With Ernest Tuttlewitt? And lost?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. Are you hard of hearing?”

“No. I’m just…just a bit shocked I suppose.”

“Yes. I know it seems unlikely I would ever be defeated.”

“It’s not that. It’s…Ernest. Really? I had no idea.”

“He is a braver man than you give him credit for.”

“I mean how? When?”

“In darker times.”

“Oh. I never imagined he’d fought, he’s so…”

“Unassuming, cautious, dull? Yes, I take your point. However, beneath his appalling clothing, he is a highly skilled wizard and you would do well to pay attention and learn from him. Did you imagine that the celebrated Hermione Granger had been placed under the tutelage of an idiot?”

“No, he is just such a…mother hen. He won’t let me do anything on my own.”

“Understandable. Tuttlewitt is a pureblood wizard. His only son, Frederick was, shall we say, aligned to the losing side. He was killed, no age at all. They say Mrs. Tuttlewitt never recovered from the shock.”

“I’m so sorry. He never said a word, in all these months he never mentioned it once. I feel awful. I’ve said things terrible things that he must have thought were about his son. I didn’t know. How was I to know.”

“You weren’t. I imagine there is a degree of shame surrounding the circumstances of his son’s death and it may well be he prefers not to speak of it.”

“Is that why you help him? Because he spared your life?”

“Something like that. I suppose. I am obliged to undertake some consultancy work on behalf of the Ministry.”

“Oh, community service. I forgot you are on probation.”

“If you wish to put it that way.”

“So, what is this ’thing’ we are looking for. It must be pretty dangerous if he’s that worried about it.”

“It is an asunder of souls.”

Hermione looked blank.

Lucius rolled his eyes.

“It is a device which separates the soul from the body.”

Hermione thought for a moment.

“Like a horcrux?”

“Yes, though in effect a horcrux is an object which houses a portion of the soul.”

“I do know that,” she snapped.

“Well, an asunder of souls is a device that may be used to remove the soul from the body. The soul cannot remain within it for any length of time, so it must find another suitable vessel.”

“So, a ring, a locket, a _diary_.”

“No, Miss Granger, a living, breathing host.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound good at all.”

“What if there isn’t one?”

“The soul will fade and die.”

“Ok. I’m not too frightened of that. It could be much worse.”

“Much. I’m sure immortal souls being forcibly torn from bodies is an everyday occurrence in your line of work.”

“Not every day, no. Just every second Tuesdays as a rule.”

Hermione thought for a moment. Lucius Malfoy had confounded her, both with his seemingly genuine respect for Ernest and the disconcerting way he would look at her from time to time. Her mind wandered back to the hungry look in his eye earlier. What made it all the worse was she had enjoyed it, teasing and tormenting him was almost irresistible. She made her mind up to test him again, as an experiment, and contented herself it was purely that: a means to provoke a reaction.

She let out a long sigh.

“It’s still hot, don’t you think? And sticky” Purposely lowering her voice, she squirmed in her seat and let out a soft moan.

“I am unsurprised. It is likely to last the day.”

She exhaled slowly and chewed at her lip. “I think my body would like to hang on to my soul but get rid of these clothes. Are there no dark objects that could do that for me?”

“I am quite sure _even you_ do not require a device to undress.”

He seemed unmoved. She ignored his sarcasm and carried on. Glancing across he gave her nothing in return.

“I would give anything to just strip off and take a cool dip in a pool. Just get all wet. Would you like that too, Lucius?”

“Are you poorly paid?”

“Why do you say that? Do I seem _desperately_ in need?”

Hermione’s pulse thumped and her breath had shortened. If she had set out to get a rise out of Lucius, her actions had the unexpected side effect of exciting and arousing her. She found herself enjoying the exchange far too much. 

“No. I simply noted you don’t seem to own a bathing costume. Perhaps you might like to petition for a more generous salary on your return to the Ministry.”

Still no reaction, or at least not the one she desired. Determined not to be beaten, she tried again.

“Maybe. Perhaps I should beg. Do you think I should beg?”

“Hmm, perhaps, if you are indeed that short of funds, though it isn’t the most dignified of strategies,” he huffed with apparent disinterest. “I may be no expert, but I believe the orange blinking light indicates that the vehicle in front intends to turn off.”

He was right. The tractor was turning into a field. Hermione’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she increased her speed along the lane. There was an awkward silence, until she could stand it no longer.

“Is it far now?”

“No, a mile or so, up on the left. It appears there is a small area to leave the vehicle. From there, we must venture into the woods on foot.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience on an update on this one. I have drawn heavily on a story I wrote a long time ago, for a fandom far, far, away (but definitely not the one you are thinking of now).   
I hope it was worth the wait, and thank you for your patience. I do hope you all come back.

The gravel crunched beneath the tyres as they skidded to a halt in a small car park at the edge of a dense copse. The place was surprisingly deserted, considering the weather. Hermione half expected it to be flooded with dog walkers and visitors, and she was relieved to find they were very much alone. It was best they did what needed to be done unseen and unhindered.

“I guess this is the place,” she said.

“As I explained, the rest of the way must be covered on foot.” Lucius rolled his eyes, still displeased about the nature of the journey. “If we had been able to apparate of course…”

“Yes, we’d have been there and back by now. If _you’d_ been willing to take a broom…”

“Hmm, a moot point now, I think. Shall we get on with the task in hand?” he pursed his lips.

Climbing out, Hermione noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere since they had left London. Clear, blazing heat had grown muggy and the air was thick and heavy. The world had suddenly become damp and humid. Hermione tried to clamber out of the car as elegantly as she could. Lucius narrowed his eyes and observed her intently, his gaze skimmed over her bare thighs. Her eyes darted up to his, conscious that the static made her dress cling to her sticky flesh and the position of the driver’s seat made it bunch and gather at the waist. His head snapped away sharply.

“Come along, Miss Granger. I don’t have all day.”

“Right then, lead on.” Hermione smiled broadly, she could think of a million places she would rather be, but appeasing him even the slightest bit might at least make the afternoon marginally more tolerable.

Still in thick, heavy robes she wondered how he hadn’t melted, yet he remained icy cool. Though the temperature had dipped slightly as they had left concrete surfaces behind, it was still incredibly hot. There wasn’t a breath of wind and she hoped the trees would at least afford a little shade.

The route ahead narrowed to nothing more than a tree-lined dirt track and the foliage grew thicker as they headed deeper into the woods. Though low-heeled and usually very comfortable, Hermione quickly realised that her shoes were less than ideal for a walk in the countryside. Stones pressed into the thin soles and she felt her pace slowing, her ankles and calves felt sore with the effort. Lucius strode on, his cane clicking against the ground. The gap between them widened with each step. Her breath grew heavier as she broke into a trot to try and keep up with him. Ego and pride made her unwilling to admit she was struggling, instead she decided to engage him in conversation in the hope it might distract him enough to slow him down and enable her to keep up.

“I never thought I would be wandering around the woods alone with you,” she offered awkwardly, grasping for something to break the silence.

Lucius stopped in his tracks and turned slowly. Success. He looked her up and down with his usual disdain and a glimmer of something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Nor I, I can assure you.”

She looked at him, stern, serious and severe, partially as she remembered him, but now she saw him differently. His blue eyes glinted in the flashes of sunlight that crept in between the mat of leaves in the canopy above. His features were strong and masculine. There was something imposing but strangely alluring about him. She might almost be willing to admit that Lucius Malfoy was an attractive man. Immaculate blond hair hung neatly, not a strand out of place. Her hand instinctively shot to her own head. The electricity and humidity made her hair frizzy and wild and she found herself flattening it down with her palm. Avoiding confronting the realisation that she suddenly cared how she looked in front of him, she again filled the silence.

“Perhaps I should be afraid.”

“Why? Do you suspect I have lured you here under false pretences with designs on murdering you?”

Now caught up and alongside him, Hermione looked up at him wide eyed, not fearful, but playful. Subconsciously chewing at her lower lip, panting lightly from tiredness. The already oppressive air thickened between. He looked back down at her, heavy-lidded, knowingly and seductively. He grinned, showing his teeth.

“A girl, in red, wandering in the woods. It has a familiar ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Are you hinting that you’re the wolf?” she rasped.

“Why? Do you imagine I am planning on devouring you?” His eyes flashed as he spoke. It made a knot tighten in her belly and sent a flicker of arousal through her.

“Maybe you are. I’m fairly certain I don’t trust you.”

The space between them had closed very suddenly. She could feel the warmth of him. Rapid shallow breaths punctuated the spaces between words. It came harder than before that unexpected feeling with a force and power she had not felt before, a tight, coiling knotting and twisting in the pit of her stomach. Aching, burning need surged within her. Hermione’s mouth dried. She licked her lips at first out of necessity, but he watched, closely, following the movement of her tongue over her lips and she exploited it. The slight slackening of his jaw and the sheer wickedness in his eyes gave him away. Leaning closer, the gap between them was now barely a whisker thick, almost, but not quite touching and she wanted it. More than anything, Hermione Granger craved Lucius Malfoy. Sighing, her chest heaved, drawing his gaze to the pale cleavage that sat between the deep v of the neckline of her dress.

“Red Riding Hood killed the wolf,” she offered, grasping to regain composure and control and to reinject the conversation with the safety of prickle and mutual dislike.

It was an unsuccessful endeavour; the steel in her glare did little to hide the overwhelming tide of want that washed over her. Tipping her head and tilting her chin upwards, she presented her lips, boldly inviting him to kiss her, willing him too. The ache thudded again.

“She did indeed, but if I recall correctly, not before he had feasted and been satisfied at least once.”

Lucius’ tongue curled around the words, conjuring images that once would have horrified her. Even that very morning, the idea that her whole body would be pulsing with arousal and want for him would have been laughed off as an awful joke. Stood before him now, dizzy and hypnotized, the thoughts thrilled her.

“Are you hungry now?”

It was barely a whisper. The pause was painful. He examined her face, his hand hovering dangerously close to her cheek. Hermione ached for that touch. If she wasn’t so frozen, she might have leant into it and demanded it. Lucius swallowed hard. His eyes closed for a moment. Closer, closer, closer until his mouth was a fraction away from hers. Lips parting to welcome him, she waited, the ache thumped and throbbed deep within her, urgent and demanding now.

“Not in the slightest. I ate a hearty breakfast and this weather plays havoc with my appetite.”

Snap. The spell was broken. Hermione scrambled to withdraw and conceal any disappointment. Frustrated rage overwhelmed the feelings of lust. The urge to stamp her foot and fly into a tantrum swept through her, but was repressed. Lucius smirked back with a smug satisfaction, as he released a cruel chuckle.

“Come along, we must press on. I fear the weather is about to turn.”

“Yes, of course,” she grimaced angrily.

Lucius had already set off down the track, leaving her reeling in his wake. Determinedly, she pushed on as rapidly as her legs could carry her, silently berating herself for her own foolishness. How could she possibly want him? Contenting herself that it must be the heat bringing about temporary insanity, she tried to avoid eye contact and concentrated on the ground below, dodging the sharpest stones and managing to move quickly enough to keep pace with Lucius. It felt like they had walked miles in silence. Stubbornly refusing to speak first she studied him as they walked. Anger still brimmed and bubbled beneath the surface. How dare he toy with her like that? It clearly amused him and yet she had allowed it, virtually encouraged it, and walked right into his trap like a besotted school girl. They moved deeper into the forest. Finally, exhaustion forced her hand.

“I have to stop. I need to rest, just for a minute.”

Lucius tutted impatiently, but stopped. “It’s not much further.”

“It’s probably a wild goose chase,” she snapped back. “Some plan to draw me away from the Ministry and do who knows what.”

His eyebrow shot up in bemusement. “Your arrogance betrays you again. The Ministry of Magic must indeed be rendered helpless in your absence. How ever did they cope before the amazing Hermione Granger came along to protect them all? I can’t imagine.”

Hermione snarled at his undisguised sarcasm, but leant back against a tree, thankful for the respite. She fanned herself. The air seemed to have completely drained away and she tipped her head back, running her own hand over the sticky column of her neck. Fine beads of sweat had formed and pooled. Exhaling deeply, she lost herself in the reprieve from the arduous walk, eyes closed she almost forgot Lucius stood waiting impatiently, watching her every movement. Bending one knee she rested the sole of her foot flat against the wide trunk of the tree. Her dress fell open a little more than was decent. For a moment she basked in it, blissfully unaware. Lucius cleared his throat and she snapped back to life, straightening herself up and tugging sharply at her dress.

“It’s no more than fifty yards now. Perhaps you could push yourself a little further. A storm is coming.”

Glancing up, he was right. She sky had darkened. Flashes of white and yellow sunlight no longer flickered in between the lacework of leaves overhead. Exhaustion still plagued her, as did those eyes boring into her.

“Just give me a minute, for goodness sake, we’ll get there. I’m sure I didn’t even need you to come along anyway.”

“I am certain you are right and I serve no function at all on this venture. You may, however, come to regret the decision to linger, once the heavens open above us.”

“Then I’ll get wet. I don’t care. In fact, it might cool me down a bit. It’s so bloody hot and to be quite honest I’m soaked already.”

Lucius pouted and sucked in his cheeks; the unintended connotations were not wasted on him and he exploited her embarrassment. Hermione clutched the hem of her dress offering it as an explanation of what she meant; her cheeks flushed red and she stood bolt upright, trying to appear formal and distance herself from her first unconscious and then involuntary lurid thoughts. The sky had blackened more and though it was still mid-afternoon on a summer’s day, the light was more akin to twilight.

“Come on then, let’s not waste any more time,” she said storming ahead down the path.

She stopped suddenly. The path forked off in two directions. “Which way?” she demanded with an almost brattish petulance.

Ignoring her tone, Lucius raised his cane leisurely and pointed it towards the left-hand path. Hermione huffed and followed the direction. Lucius swept past her. A large, knotty and ancient oak dominated the centre of a small clearing. It had to be that. Wide, sprawling branches curled out like dark, twisted fingers. Even dressed in bright green leaves, it had a sinister and ominous presence. Its outline, set against the brooding sky above, drew dark and eerie lines.

“I’m guessing that is what we are looking for? A bit obvious, I suppose. I mean if I was going to hide a dark magical object I think I’d avoid the creepy looking tree of doom.”

Lucius nodded and shrugged in a non-committal manner, still saying nothing. Hermione marched up to the thick roots that had pushed their way to the surface, disrupting the ground. Running her hands over it, she could find nothing. The only obvious knot was too narrow and tight to conceal anything of any substance. Lucius stood wearing a smug expression of superiority.

“Are you going to help me, or just stand there?”

Riled and infuriated, it showed in her voice. Lucius remained unmoved.

“I was simply bowing down to your obvious superiority, Hermione. Perhaps I may be of some use on this excursion after all. How exciting.”

She gritted her teeth and stepped back, irritated she had allowed him to get under her skin and even worse, let him see that he had. Lucius drew his wand and tapped at the thin seam of the hollow, muttering incantations. It widened and opened like a yawning mouth. They exchanged a glance. Even Hermione’s pride forced her to concede she would have been at a loss without him. The unfamiliar words he uttered under his breath were clearly a dark magic she had never encountered. This was far more than a simple concealment charm. Within the hollow sat a small, highly polished, wooden box, nestled in a bed of browning, crispy dead leaves.

“It looks harmless enough.”

“That is simply the box.”

“I know that,” she said as her face twisted into a forced and derisive smile.

Cautiously and carefully he lifted it out, resting it reverently on his palm. Unclipping the tiny, ornate latch, he raised the hinged lid. Inside was a glass orb. A shimmering blue liquid swirled and glowed from within. It drew her in, her eyes, her fingers, the temptation to touch it was strong and powerful, magnetic even. Tentatively she reached toward it, unable to resist or refuse its lure. Lucius slammed the lid closed.

“Best not to touch. An Asunder of Souls will very quickly draw out your very spirit and before you know it the essence of your being will swim within the liquid, your body will be no more than a shell. If a soul already sits within it, then it will seep out and possess you, consuming you until, though your appearance is unchanged, the soul of another will inhabit your being and…”

A loud clap of thunder tore through the sky above like a gunshot. It startled Hermione. The sky rumbled again and another equally menacing sound rung out. It was only seconds before the first plump raindrops began to bounce off the leaves. There was a flash of light that illuminated the forest for a second. With the third clatter, the heavens opened.

Lucius tucked the box away in his robes and they dashed for the tree line, though it provided little shelter from the ensuing cloudburst. Huge droplets drummed down. In under a minute they were both soaked to the skin. Lucius’ usually undisturbed hair darkened and hung in a slick clump. His robes clung and stuck to the contours of his back, where they would have swished and moved freely, Hermione was equally drenched. The thin and floaty fabric of her dress made heavy by the weight of the water as the black clouds above emptied themselves over the countryside. Hermione regretted not wearing a bra as the soaked material provided her with no modesty and gripped every curve. Hugging her arms around herself, the rainwater trickled down her back from her hair.

Earlier, the narrow track had at least been dry and solid, now it was rapidly turning into a mud slide. Hermione could barely find her footing and she slipped and skidded along. Another step and she lost her balance altogether. Strong, firm hands clamped on her waist, steadying her and keeping her upright. Flailing arms reached to regain her balance and she caught Lucius’ shoulders in an attempt to steady herself. The ground underfoot shifted like liquid and she lost her footing again. This time she fell into him, their wet bodies forced together. Another flash of white light in the sky mirrored the jolt of electricity that shot through her as she felt him pressed against her, firm and taut. She found herself pressing harder against him, searching and finding, sure she could feel the stirrings of arousal brushing against her. Slowly and uncertainly she raised her head. Her breath was ragged, not from the heat, the exertion or from fighting her way along the path, but from the proximity of that man. The heat of him radiated through the paper-thin fabric of her dress. The hot ache she had battled to suppress spiked through her once more. Their eyes met. Hungry need burned. The seemingly endless moment was shattered by another earth shaking boom from above.

Lucius pulled away slightly, as if the time and the feeling had passed, conscious of his own evident arousal. His eyes remained fixed on her chest. The water had soaked right through and her taut nipples strained against the damp fabric; glancing downward the outline of her underwear was stark beneath her dress. Lucius took a step back. Suddenly self-conscious, Hermione hugged herself again, as tightly as she could. Nervously, she did not move, another slip and a mud bath were all she needed to add to her embarrassment. The rain still poured down. He looked back at her blankly.

With an awkward half-smile, she opened her mouth to speak, words were not forthcoming. “I…erm. Well it’s still raining. If I thought I was wet before, I’m completely soaking now.” Hermione giggled, but the realisation yet again her attempt at a joke and diffusing the tension had backfired.

Lucius let out a low growl. He could stand it no longer. This time he moved toward her with purpose, snatching her into his arms. One hand strayed and snaked down her back, slipping further and taking a firm grip of her arse as he pressed his lips to hers with fervour and urgency. Her response was automatic; her body relenting instantly and falling into his embrace. Hermione’s mouth fell open to receive his possessive, probing tongue. They kissed with force, need took over him and he bit and nipped at her lower lip, hot, wet, greedy mouths meeting as nature’s firework display continued above them. Lucius’ hand wandered and explored the curve of her bottom, squeezing and kneading while she ground wantonly against his body. Moaning softly into his mouth, she felt his hard cock digging into her. His tongue still slid wickedly over hers, claiming her mouth as his own, darting in and out and teasing out the same rhythm in her hips as she ground against him. Fingers had raked into her hair, roughly tugging and gripping, holding her there as her claimed her mouth.

Finally, he drew back, once more clamping his hands at her sides, but this time lifting her clean off the ground. The initial surprise was short lived. Her arms coiled around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, hanging on as he carried her off the track and deeper into the woodland. Lowering her to the ground, she found her back pressed against the rough bark of a thick and sturdy tree. The ground beneath her feet felt firmer and more solid than the path, but her legs felt weak and she trembled in shock and excitement. Long, elegant fingers curled around her wrists, pinning her against the tree. Powerless she could only stare back at him. A wicked smirk flashed across his face, before his mouth plundered hers again. Abandoning her lips, he worked his way down her neck, his tongue trailing across her skin, lapping up the rivulets of water that poured down, pinching at the sensitive skin he found there, not hard enough to mark her, but enough to extract a whimper. The rain continued to beat down on them.

“You, witch,” he rasped, “have been tormenting me all day. All. Fucking. Day. Pouting and making your remarks which such faux innocence, allowing that excuse for a dress to ride up, standing drenched, inciting me with those barely hidden, hard nipples of yours.”

Hermione gasped. “I…I…didn’t…”

“Of course, you didn’t mean to, but you torment me. Do you understand? Now I must have you. I must. Would you like that, witch? Shall I give you exactly what you have been asking for?” Lucius growled; his eyes almost black with lust. Hermione panted and wriggled, his vice-like grip on her wrists tightened only intensifying the hot ache between her thighs. A very different wetness pooled and gathered there. Searching her face, Lucius waited for a sign of consent.

“Well, witch?”

A weak and feeble ‘please’ escaped her lips.

“Please, what?”

His frustration welled, either she was pleading to be fucked or to be released from his grasp.

“I want you,” she whispered, barely able to speak. Her need was just as strong and desperate as his.

It was all he needed to hear.

“Good girl,” he said with a wicked smile, releasing her captive arms, to free his hands to tug at the tie on her dress. It fell open, exposing her breasts to him.

Her eyes closed and she sank back against the tree trunk, revelling in the feel of his hands cupping and kneading at each pert breast. Rolling each swollen nub between his finger and thumb, Hermione moaned deeply. He tugged and twisted, not quite hard enough to cause her pain, but with the right amount of pressure to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to her core. His other hand worked its way up over her inner thigh, pushing away her dress, moving higher with agonising slowness. In the meantime, his mouth replaced his fingers, taking each tender bud in turn, licking and suckling before pinching and dragging his teeth over the delicate flesh.

Lucius slid his fingers over the sodden lace of her underwear. She inhaled deeply, willing him to venture further. He teased, smoothing his palm over her and pressing there, almost squeezing and drawing the need out of her. She whimpered, as he worked his fingers beneath the fabric, finding the contrast between the cold damp of the rain-soaked panties and the wet heat of her body. Crying out wildly, she could have sobbed when he finally traced his fingers lightly over her moist folds, her legs parting to invite him within her to fill the incessant feeling of hollowness that had become almost painful.

Glancing up at her, he slowly pulled his mouth away from her nipple with a soft popping sound, barely audible against the persistent drumming of the rain. Lucius looked pleased with himself and the pleading expression on her face.

“You really are wet, aren’t you? Such a naughty, filthy witch.”

Pressing and nudging at her opening, she arched her back like a cat,

“Oh, how you want and need that. Tell me what you want?”

“Please, inside me, I need it.”

Without hesitation he thrust two fingers deep into her, burying them to the knuckle. She whined and rocked against them as he roughly drove them in and out of her willing body. Hermione adored it; pleasure soared within her as she stretched and opened for him, greedy for more. He withdrew, only to push back into her harder and deeper than before. The urgency was delicious, frantic and unrestrained, as much an expression of Lucius’ lust as hers. The scratching of the rough bark through her flimsy dress only brought new sensation and she worked herself against it, seeking more.

“Gods, yes, yes, don’t stop.”

Unable to resist, Lucius paused. Hermione panted and writhed, bending her knees to try and force his hand. Lucius held her still with his free arm, taking pleasure in watching her squirm and suffer.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare stop,” she spat at him.

He laughed wickedly.

“So very desperate, begging for it.”

He inched in with painful slowness. It was an exquisite torture until his own resolve broke, and he worked in and out of her harder and faster than before. She cried out, openly and shamelessly as his thumb brushed over her clit, plump and fat with need. She flinched and sucked air in through her teeth at the rawness of that first touch, but moaned again deeply, urging him to return to it. Maintaining the rhythm, he rubbed and circled there, her juices dripping and coating his fingers as she thrashed in abandon.

“Come for me, Hermione.”

Needing little encouragement, she throbbed with desperate need as the first jolts of warmth began to spread through her body, her breathing so shallow, she could hardly force out wordless murmurs of approval. Flashes of lightening and claps of thunder made the whole thing seem all the more surreal as she let go completely. Tightening around his fingers, her body stiffened, and her eyes rolled back as she came, her hips bucking frantically, riding each wave of pleasure that ripped through her. Grasping at a branch, she clung on for dear life and gasped for air, her thighs quivering as he teased out the last trickles of pleasure from her now limp and wilting body.

“Fuck,” she panted out as she stilled, and his fingers slipped away from her.

“I intend to,” he snapped back, pushing her back against the tree with his weight and kissing her gain. This time he only allowed her teasing, brief brushes of her tongue, pulling away and forcing her to lean forward greedily, beseeching him for more.

Brushing his thumb over her cheek, he wiped away the traces of black mascara that had been washed away by the torrential downpour. It was an unexpected moment of tenderness that extracted a deep, but confused feeling of emotion within her. Jumbled amongst the heat and lust, it almost felt like affection.

Lucius could hold back no longer. He wanted and needed her. With a firm grip on her shoulder he directed her to turn. Compliantly she followed the wordless instruction and with one hand across her stomach and the other flat against her back she bent over, gripping the tree for support. Lucius roughly pushed her legs apart, yanking her flapping dress up to her waist. Pausing only for a second to admire her bottom, barely covered by a thin and damp scrap of lace, he dragged at her underwear, sending her sodden knickers to her ankles. Hermione stumbled out of them, still clinging to the tree for stability as she managed to kick one leg free. Now bare and exposed, she felt one teasing finger running over the length of her slit.

“What do you want, witch?”

“You know what I want,” she wailed back.

He teased again, making her gasp. She heard him free himself, closing her eyes but imagining the delicious sight of his cock, hard and proud. Hermione could barely stand the anticipation. She felt it, the smooth tip rubbing against her, tormenting her.

“Is this what you want, Hermione? Bent over in the woods, fucked, roughly like a wild animal. And I thought you were such a prim and proper creature.”

Hermione made a deep guttural sound that begged him to make good on his suggestion. Lucius pressed at her entrance, almost but not quite.

“Is _this _what you want?”

“Yes,” she cried hoarsely. “Fuck me, fuck me now like this. Just fuck me.”

Lucius rather enjoyed seeing her loss of control and the sound of her foul-mouthed and lustful, begging for his cock. Coming from her, of all people. Giving in to his own desires, he thrust deep into her, filling her, feeling her stretch and welcome inside her, hot and wet and willing.

Hermione moaned at the sensation of him within her as he started to fuck her roughly, his fingers digging into her hips so hard she was certain they would leave behind bruises. Relentless and hard, need poured out of her, her ragged breath punctuated by sharp cries as he drove deep into her and hit that sensitive place within her. Lucius stopped. Holding her still, he let out a chuckle as she fought against the restraint to rock and buck against him of her own accord. Both amused and excited by her desperation. He watched for a moment, each movement confirming she was just as eager as him. Lucius pulled back, almost withdrawing completely, listening for the hitch in her breath and being rewarded. He waited, absorbing her desperation before pushing back into her hard and deep.

One more he held her at the waist, drawing her further upright, making her tighter and covering her slight frame almost completely between his body and the tree. Hermione felt his warm breath on her neck.

“Delicious, tight little witch.”

Hermione could not find words to respond. Lucius kissed and pinched at her shoulder as he buried himself deeply and began to thrust into her again. One hand raked up into her drenched hair, tugging her head back as he pounded into her. The rough bark now caught and scratched at her nipples, a reminder of the drag and tug of Lucius’ teeth against each sensitive bud. The scratching against her breasts only ignited her further and she adored and embraced the friction of it, matched by the rhythm of his cock in and out of her, fucking her senseless under the warm shower of summer rain.

Lucius felt the first drops of his release forming. The way her tight fleshy walls gripped and resisted was tipping him over the edge. Determined she would come again, he curled an arm around her and once more found her ripe and demanding clit, toying with it as he moved inside her. Each throaty cry that escaped her lips grew lounder, until he felt her tensing and constricting around him.

“That’s it, come for my cock.”

She was there, lost and lightheaded and Lucius let himself go, grunting with each stroke as he spilled into her.

Still for a moment, the rain had eased; the rumbles of thunder grew more distant. The only sound bar the drizzle against the leaves was their heavy breathing and that slowed and subsided. Hermione felt him slip out of her and pulled herself up. By the time she had gathered herself together enough to turn, Lucius was fully dressed, and she scrambled to do the same, wrapping over her dress and tying it with shaking fingers, avoiding eye contact. She stared down at her now muddy and filthy underwear.

“Well I can’t put those back on,” she said gathering them up with a twinge of awkwardness and embarrassment at her own recklessness. Completely uncertain of what to expect of Lucius, she balled them into her fist and still refused to look at him.

“A lack of undergarments seems to be the least of your transgressions today. Come,” he said picking up his cane, he had discarded at some point. “We should get back to London and at least dry off a little.”

He drew his wand and cast a drying spell and they set off back down the path.

“Thank you,” she managed.

Hermione struggled along as she had before. Lucius extended a hand. She glanced down at it with a look of uncertainty and then up at him, finally looking him in the eye. His arm hung awkwardly.

“If you prefer to struggle along independently it is no concern of mine.”

Reluctantly she took it, her fingers knotting into his. They made their way back to the car in silence, hand in hand. Hermione tried not to think about it. Once back on the gravel of the car park, she expected him to release his grip on her hand. He did not.

Hermione unlocked the car and they got in. Eyes fixed ahead, she finally managed to say something.

“I suppose we should, you know, talk about what happened.”

“Must we? It seems rather unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“Oh, ok,” disappointment flared. “We can just forget the whole thing ever happened. I mean, never mention it again. I’m totally fine with that.”

“We could.”

“Yes, there is no need for anyone to know about this. We go back to London and it’s like it never happened.”

“I am content to abide by your suggestion.”

“Good, good, that’s brilliant. We should get going. I’ll drive. I mean you can’t drive, so I have to drive. We don’t have to even say anything. Do you mind if I put the radio on? I’m not good with silences.” Hermione spoke quickly and shuffled nervously in her seat.

“That is become increasingly evident. Hermione, I have no desire to make demands of you, or press you for things you are disinclined to give. I can’t see that the…incident was not to your liking and personally I would prefer it if your disappointment was not broadcast widely either.”

Hermione sighed and bit down hard on her lip.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Then might we agree that it was a mutually enjoyable experience?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Lucius turned to her. “Though I find myself as surprised as you at the revelation, perhaps we may also agree that, discreetly of course, it is an experience we may, at some point, convenient to us both, consider repeating?”

Hermione digested what Lucius was suggesting. She took it in, her body fighting with her head. Forcing herself to look at him, their eyes met. Hermione nodded. “Hmmm, Uh huh. Yep we could definitely do that. Should we, you know, check our diaries or something?”

“Hmm,” he said with a glint in his eye, “I thought,” he sighed and appeared non-committal, “perhaps now may or may not be convenient.”

The ache returned and thumped inside her.

“Yes, yes,” she offered casually, “I think I’m available.”

“Excellent,” he purred with a grin and pulled her in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a couple of thoughts and I would adore some reader input. I can either- leave this as a stand-alone, three-chapter bit of naughtiness, write one or two more chapters of naughtiness, or I have an idea for a much more substantial story where that dark magical object comes into play and causes some havoc. Please let me know your thoughts and leave me a few words in the reviews if you can.   
If you are craving more of the same, naughtier or something romantic, please have a look at my other offerings.  
Thank you as always, my lovely readers, Vin xx


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